


this love that i've got

by hiza-chan (callunavulgari)



Series: Facts That Matter [4]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/hiza-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He lets his smile press up against the top knobs of Roxas' spine; presses three kisses to each vertebrae.  "Fine, fine. If you must know, I stole them. It's a life of crime I live now, lovely. Won't you be the Thelma to my Louise?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	this love that i've got

**Author's Note:**

> This was a kind of complimentary fic to Allie's fic, Facts That Matter. It's set sometime after the actual fic but before 'to love you is to be part of you', I don't know. This was meant to be part of a bigger scene that Allie and I were going to collab on, but alas, that did not and never will happen. So again, you get a snippet.

When Axel was six, his big brother once sat him down well away from their mother and told him calmly, "Now Axel, no one here is going to laugh at you if you want to wear Kairi's skirts—no Reno, don't laugh—we _won't_. But Ax, please, remember to only do it _in the house_. Please. For me."  
  
Somehow, that memory always seems to stand out in his mind. All those memories of Zack, and the one that sticks the most is the gummy feel of lipstick smeared half across his chubby little boy cheeks and Zack's hands on his shoulders. Never outside, he'd said—a lesson that had been cemented with bruises the summer Axel had turned sixteen.  
  
And Axel never intends to. He's never been ashamed of who he is, and he's hardly concerned about what some stranger will think of him wearing lace and satin instead of denim and leather, but it's better at home. At home his options are unlimited. He doesn't have to restrict himself to a skirt that stops at mid thigh and a camisole that would look much better if he had breasts; no, at home he can say fuck it and just wear the cami and fuck all else.  
  
Axel has learned many things about himself over the years—and the most important lesson he's learned is that he's a bit odd, and that it's best not to question his own flights of fancy. If he wants to light up a joint after work, throw on something silky, and feed a couple of stray cats than he damned well better let himself do it and damn what anyone else thinks.  
  
He wore an old woman's pearls at the shop today, strung around his neck three times so they didn't reach his knees. They skirted the edge of his collar, and more than one customer had eyed them oddly, as if they secretly wanted to point out to him, "Sir, sir! I don't mean to alarm you, but you seem to have old lady jewelry around your neck. I know, I know, shocking, I'm sure." He'd even donned a pair of horn rimmed glasses to add to the effect.  
  
Roxas is sitting in the middle of the living room when he lets himself in, and the smile he flashes him is equal parts distracted and intrigued. There's a pile of homework in front of him—calculus, he notices as he steps closer.  
  
"Honey, I'm home," he grins, stooping to press an affectionate kiss to the top of his head.  
  
Roxas' smile widens a bit at that and he gasps quietly, a hand to his mouth, and intones, "Oh my! And me caught with the milk man's hand down my knickers! Darling, I'm terribly sorry. Won't you forgive me?"  
  
"Oh, the milk man you say? Is he bigger than me?"  
  
"Loads bigger. And he lets me top."  
  
"Well then," Axel whispers, sliding down to sit next to him. "That's it then. Bigger, and he lets you top. Guess it's to the doghouse with little ole' me."  
  
Roxas hums again and chews on the end of his pen. "Nonsense," he mumbles around it, "He's assured me that he doesn't mind sharing. His name's Gary, by the way, I'm sure you'll love him."  
  
"Gary, the milkman. Well how about that."  
  
He leans into Roxas, and drops another kiss to the side of his neck. Roxas smiles a little, letting his lashes drift closed as he leans into Axel's lips. And there—there it is, Roxas' little hand curling around the pearls to pull him close. Roxas, opening his eyes so he can watch the pearls slide over the pad of his fingers. Roxas, whose content smile morphs into an amused smirk when he purrs, "So what little old lady did you steal these from?"  
  
"Her name was Bathilda, and I had to kick her walker away to get a hold of these." There's something cooking in the kitchen; savory smells of chicken and gravy and something that might be broccoli. It's distracting. "She put up quite a fight all the same. Who would think that a ninety year old woman would hit like a double decker bus?"  
  
"Bathilda is from the Harry Potter books, Axel darling. Try again."  
  
He lets his smile press up against the top knobs of Roxas' spine; presses three kisses to each vertebrae.  "Fine, fine. If you must know, I stole them. It's a life of crime I live now, lovely. Won't you be the Thelma to my Louise?"  
  
Roxas turns towards him, homework forgotten. "But what if I want to be Louise?"  
  
Another kiss, this one to his lips. A smile.  
  
"Out of the question."  
  



End file.
